Inheritance of A Valkyrie
by StuffRocksInnit
Summary: In the Battle of Belatona, Roran, Murtagh and Eragon are killed. Reborn in Valhalla as the three gods of fate, they leave their mortal souls behind. But not Eragon. Escaped, he now faces the biggest decision of his life; Rider Eragon or Lenneth Valkyrie?
1. Three Fall

**A/N/: Hello. You may have read my drabble series, 'The Lingering Thoughts of Fate'. It is not essential to read that to understand this, in fact it's not even necessary at all. It has a slightly different storyline, so it may confuse you. But that is what this is essentially based on, or the idea of that.**

**I am actually very pleased with most of the content in this first chapter. Unlike usual I have kept the dialogue to a reasonable minimum, used what I consider to be good descriptive language which I hope will paint a mental picture in your heads of what I am seeing when I imagine these scenes and the action that takes place, and I have made the chapter a good length and written what I hope is a gripping opening to what should be an interesting story.**

**But I would like you all to make your own conclusions upon reading it, and I value your input, whatever it may be. **

**Please enjoy.**

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The wings of the eagle curved majestically as he soared high above the land. Brown, sleek feathers rustled in the wind that rushed past, carrying him on the breeze without a hint of effort on his part. He spiralled slowly, curving his mighty head down to survey the scene below.

Two black smudges blemished the barren plains. They were made up of hundreds of men, two great armies that stretched further than the eye could see. They faced one another over a wide swathe of no man's land, each behind hastily erected barricades which would serve a little protection if the opposing forces were to sweep over them.

Men watched from behind these barricades with wary eyes, looking out across the sea of shifting ankle high grass to the enemy lines. Spears and halberds clinked against each other as sentry's changed position, shifting from one foot to another. All was quiet watchfulness below the eagle now, the air charged with tension as both sides waited for the madness to break forth.

Eragon could almost feel the air tingling with the pent up emotion, the calm before the storm. He shifted his position again and itched his thigh. Beside him, Orik fiddled with a toothpick between the gaps in his teeth. He worked it around a tooth and then spat vigorously onto the ground. "Barzul," he muttered, dropping the pick in the dirt, "you would have thought they would have got on with it by now instead of just sitting here!"

Eragon pursed his lips slightly. "It's how they want you to feel, Orik," he replied sagely. "They're keeping us waiting in the hope of unnerving us."

Orik grunted. His eyes shifted restlessly around the camp, flicking from one point to another in quick succession. "Aye, it's working alright. I'm wound as tightly as a clockwork toy."

Eragon nodded in a quick birdlike way which Orik noted he had picked up from Arya. He said nothing more, but his face betrayed his own nerves as clearly as spoken word.

---

Roran fastened the last buckle of his gauntlet and stretched. His armour, although not exactly comfortable, was not likely to cause him great discomfort when the call for battle sounded. It fitted well, he was always pleased to observe, better than an average soldier's.

He wasn't an average soldier, of course, but well fitted armour could be hard to come by.

He rolled his shoulders in their sockets, loosening the joints. It did little to ease the stiff tension of his muscles, and he doubted he would be able to relax whatever he tried. The air of gut boiling terror choked the camp like a thick and deadly fog, though none would have admitted it.

Roran heaved a heavy sigh and walked off between the tents. He passed many men who nodded and raised a hand respectfully. No one spoke, for a strange fear of breaking the deathly quiet had stolen over the men, and most sat tensely outside their tents, weapons in hand.

Roran continued on until he came to a small circle between the tents where many of the men of Carvahall had gathered. He was instantly offered a seat next to Horst, which he took. The big man regarded him speculatively. "You look pale and drawn, Roran. Memories trouble your mind?"

Roran simply nodded. Horst returned the nod and turned away to speak to his eldest son. Roran ran a hand over his tired face.

Katrina.

She was all he could think of. The campaign had progressed fast, but not fast enough for her time. She had given birth to a healthy, strong daughter, who already shared her vibrant copper hair. A few days later there had been tearful goodbyes and she had joined a train of injured men journeying back to Aberon. Roran had been heartbroken to see her go, even if it was for the best. He threw himself fully into helping the war effort to keep his mind from thoughts of her, but when he lay down to sleep her face haunted him again.

Another sigh lifted his heavy shoulders and was mirrored by the wind as it too whistled and sighed through the maze of tents, causing cooking fires to flicker and women to pull shawls tighter around themselves.

---

The same wind whistled across the plain, swirling and blowing for many leagues until it came to the highest tower of a great citadel that dominated the skyline for many miles around. It was a black tower surrounded by the smaller buildings of a great sprawling city that seemed to cling to the hems of the fortresses' skirt, much as the many poor of the city clutched ladies' skirts and the hem's of men's tunics as they begged piteously for a scrap of food.

The great citadel was surrounded by a wall of granite that was ten foot thick, and the great tower that was the black king's palace was topped by a cone of pale green gemstone. The gem was translucent and would have filtered sunlight happily through into the room within had it been sunny on that dark day. The room inside was a great chamber that sloped with the outer design and was filled with countless walkways and rope ladders that hung between suspended baskets of all shapes and sizes. Near the top of the cone the walls curved and travelled straight up for a time before being broken by tear shaped wind holes large enough for mighty dragons to fly through. A great ledge circled the tower at this point and was lead up to by several proper staircases for those not willing to brave the terror of the hanging walkways.

It was here that the wind whistled through and lifted the strands of raven black hair that hung about Murtagh's slim shoulders. He stood upon the ledge in the great dragonhold, looking out across the boundless plains over which he would soon be flying. Flying into battle against the Varden, where he would have to yet again face his brother, Eragon.

His heart was heavy with despair as he stared out across the open grassland, which shifted eerily like the surface of the storm blown ocean. The knee high grass was flattened and trampled for many miles around in the wake of the enormous army Galbatorix had sent out to meet the Varden in Belatona. The grass was reduced to mud in places where great war machines had been pulled over it, and had been cut by scythes to allow better access.

Something moved behind Murtagh and he turned. Thorn had jumped into the nearest basket and as he watched the red dragon jumped onto the ledge upon which he stood. Servants appeared at the top of the stairs with his supplies and armour, which he let them strap onto him. They scurried around Thorn, first putting on his saddle and then loading it with the meagre supplies he might need to make the small flight to the city. When they were done they hurried away, only pausing to bow and whisper, "My Lord," respectfully.

Murtagh walked, armour clinking, to Thorn and mounted the mighty dragon. Thorn stretched his wine coloured wings and crawled to the edge of the wind hole. For a few seconds they stared out into empty space. _Here we go again, _Murtagh thought quietly. Then Thorn threw himself out into the air and spread his wings, catching the updraft and sending them soaring skywards. The black citadel dwindled beneath them as they caught the wind and flew out across the plain to their next confrontation.

---

The horns for battle sounded as the Varden made their advance towards the city. The great oak gates had been pulled shut and bolted and soldiers lined the walls, sending arrows and pitch down upon the advancing army.

Belatona was a city that was pressed against the edge of Leona Lake, with one side opening to a wharf and docks not unlike Terim's. The Varden threw themselves against the walls, propping ladders against the wall to climb up on and using their battering ram to try and break down the gate.

While Nasuada directed from the back, Roran and the other captains lead with Kings Orrin and Orik, while Eragon and Saphira rained fire down upon the walls and soldiers.

_Quickly, to that wall and help those Varden! _Eragon shouted. Saphira responded, moving to the left and baking an oncoming advance of the Empire's soldiers.

Roran made mincemeat of the soldiers on top of the wall near where he had climbed up. His company took out a whole section of soldiers and made it to the stairs which would lead them down to the lower levels. Roaring a war cry, Roran sped down the stairs...

...and straight onto the spear of a soldier stationed at the bottom of the stairwell. He gasped, the pain lancing through him. The spear was embedded deep, the point breaking out of the skin on his back. The shaft had pierced through under his left shoulder, almost straight through his heart. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor. The men of his company roared their anger and cut the soldier down mercilessly, but that would not save their captain. Urgent shouts and the screech of a dragon were the last things Roran heard as he sank into blackness.

The screech echoed around the land as Eragon turned, horror forming an ice cold lump in his belly. Thorn's wings carried him as he swept towards them mere inches from the sparkling surface of Leona Lake. Saphira turned in the wind and roared her displeasure, powering her descent towards the other dragon with her bulging flight arm muscles.

Thorn mirrored her roar and sped upwards towards them. The world seemed to slow into a crawl as they got closer...closer...Eragon could clearly see Murtagh's face, in slow motion, as he came towards them with all the speed of a flying arrow, face expressing a strange mix of fear and resigned acceptance.

The two dragons hit each other with an impact that jarred Eragon's whole body. He held onto Saphira's saddle, unbalanced. Saphira swooped away and tried to get above Thorn. He mirrored her again, rising to meet her attack with a fierce snarl. Eragon noticed something was wrong. His legs moved too much. He looked down and saw that, somehow, the straps holding his legs in place had loosened. He was about to point this out to Saphira when she whirled, going over so Thorn skimmed the air where she had once been.

The straps were too loose.

He felt himself falling and cried out, plummeting through thin air. Saphira righted herself, then looked down. She screeched her fear.

_Saphira! Help! _Eragon screamed as he fell. She began to draw in her wings, then turned. She jabbed her head at Thorn, who was coming towards her again. Eragon sensed a great release of energy, and Thorn went flying through the air, spiralling towards the city. Then Saphira drew in her wings and dived towards him.

He turned over and saw the water coming up beneath him. Much closer than he had expected. Hitting it at this speed would be almost as bad as hitting solid ground. Saphira pushed herself faster than she ever had, going into freefall as well.

Too late.

Eragon hit the water as if it was a brick wall and was plunged into darkness. He gasped, the air knocked from him. Water filled his lungs and his vision blurred. He couldn't breathe or think. He could hear Saphira calling his name faintly, but he was sinking. Sinking into the darkness...

Thorn roared as he was thrown backwards. Murtagh caught strange glimpses of the ground and sky, turning over one another as they flipped backwards. He struggled, turning his head to see the city rushing up to met them.

_Thorn! _Murtagh shouted, _you need to get control again, or we're going to crash! _

_I'm trying!_

The city rushed into focus, spires and rooftops becoming sickeningly clear.

_Thorn! _Murtagh screamed. The dragon gave a roar of desperation as he powered his wings, but to no avail. With an impact that broke his bones, he slammed into the edge of a rooftop, plunging over its edge to hit another, lower building. He screamed as he fell through the levels of roofs, stacked up as they were in this part of the city.

He landed with a nauseating crunch on the paving stones below.

Barely conscious, he tried to review his injuries. Many bones were broken, and he was bleeding inside. Still, it could be fixed, if someone did it soon.

_Murtagh? _Thorn asked faintly. There was no reply. _Murtagh?! _Thorn called again. Still nothing. He moved slightly and instantly noticed the absence of his rider's familiar weight on his back. Cold shock and terror gripped him. If Murtagh had fallen out of the saddle, then there was surely no way he could have survived.

_No! Murtagh! _Thorn screamed, raising his head feebly to the sky.

And, a street away, his rider registered his call in some small part of his rapidly fading mind. _Thorn! _He tried to shout, but it came out as nothing but the faintest whisper, quieter than the sighing breeze. His last energy spend, Murtagh's consciousness faded away, consumed and overcome by the raging dark...

---

**A/N/: Well, what did you all think? Good opening? Mysterious? I'd love to have some reviews to see what you thought. All comments welcome, whether they be good, bad, or just plain ugly. **

**Thank you all for reading.**


	2. Vahalla

**A/N/: Hello. Sorry this took awhile, I've been doing a few other things recently. I've already started writing the third chapter, however, so that should not be so long in coming.**

**Please enjoy.**

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Mist and clouds swirled without purpose in a seemingly endless void. Seemingly endless, because it did in fact have an end. Green fields would eventually appear from the cloud, dotted by flowers. If you went far enough, you would soon come upon a place where the cloud and mist were replaced with bright sunshine and more 'seemingly endless' plains. These also only seemed endless, since if you walked far enough, you would find yourself standing in front of an amazingly large staircase. If you then ascended said staircase, you would find at its end a hall reminiscent of an ancient Greek structure, with great columns holding up a massive roof, all wrought out of gold.

This is the great Valhalla, home of the gods.

If you, a brave soul, were to ascend a second, far smaller staircase at the front of this amazing building, you would enter the main hall. Large as a cathedral, it stretches back further than the eye can see with corridors leading off every few paces. At the back of this great hall, a pair of great doors stand open. The room beyond is Lord Odin's throne room.

It is with this room that we are concerned. Before the furthest wall of this room stands a golden throne on a raised dais. A long red carpet leads to this throne. It is up this carpet that underlings and great gods alike walk, only to kneel at the foot of the three steps that form the Lord's dais. The room's other walls are lined with tiered seating, which house the many gods of the pantheon when the court is in session.

The rows of seats were empty today, but the room was not. The usually fearsome king of the gods reclined, relaxed, in his throne. His usual intensity was only visible in his eyes, which stared feverishly towards the door opposite him.

Footsteps echoed around the room. A woman stepped around the bursts of light and kneeled before the throne.

"Kneel not, Freya. I know your devotion."

The woman, Freya, smiled and got to her feet. "Thank you, Lord." She was a slight woman, dressed in a grass green leotard with small puffed skirts on either side. Her long, corn-silk blonde hair fell to just below her shoulders from underneath a white and green cap edged with gold. Long knee-high boots covered her feet.

She gestured at the lights. "Has there been any change?"

"The change is about to come. You have arrived at an opportune moment. Observe." Odin leaned forward, the feverish intensity that was previously contained to his eyes leaking out onto his face.

Freya turned. The lights had begun to change colour. The one on the left changed to a light purple, the one in the middle changing to a darker shade of the same colour, almost black. The last changed to a light royal blue.

Both deities watched as the colours grew in intensity until they suddenly burst in a flash of white brilliance. Freya lowered her arms from her face to observe three figures becoming more and more distinct in the light.

A few seconds later, the three figures stepped out onto the carpet.

They were three tall men, arrayed in close fitting armour. The colour of the armour on each was the colour of the light they had previously been standing in, and was of the same basic design albeit with some minor differences on each. The plates all interlocked with each other, covering every part of the wearer's body except hands, face and elbows. A short skirt of white material extended to mid-thigh, edged with gold metal tassels of differing designs. Each had a long sword hanging in an ornate scabbard on his hip, and a helmet plumed with two lines of feathers on either side.

The three stepped forward and knelt before the lord. He smiled down upon them, though not a happy or friendly smile.

"Valkyries," he said, his voice ringing forth around the room, "you come here today after much suffering in the human world. Today you are freed of the confines of mortal life, and come into your immortality. Welcome. You also have a purpose to fulfil here. You will alternately collect souls in Midgard, teach Enherijar on the training fields here, and act as a representative here in court and in the courts of others as Valkyrie-in-Asgard. Are you ready to fill these posts?"

"Yes, my lord," the three Valkyries murmured.

"Do you swear undying loyalty to me, your lord?"

"We swear it, lord."

Odin's mouth pulled into the same humourless smile. "Good. Then go, you must start your duties. Hrist, you are to be Valkyrie-in-Midgard. Lenneth, you are Valkyrie-in-Asgard. Slimer, you are Valkyrie-of-Warriors. You are dismissed."

All three bowed and turned. Freya watched as they disappeared beyond the door. "So they are the new Valkyries? How interesting."

"Indeed," Odin replied. "I wonder, how will they measure up to their predecessors?"

---

**A/N/: Sorry for the short length; I want to leave it there for the moment. But worry not, things will soon start to be revealed and hopefully become more interesting.**

**All feedback is appreciated. **


	3. Back In Alagaesia

**A/N/: Another chapter, finally. I definitely like this a lot more than the second chapter, and it's much longer too! Hope you enjoy it.**

The battlefield was a haze of smoke thrown up from low burning fires. People walked or dragged themselves across it, trying to make it to somewhere or find a loved one.

Inside the city wasn't much better. The dead lined the streets while dazed looking men and women walked slowly, unable to think where to start cleaning up the mess that had once been their home.

A young man by the name of Elic stumbled into a large square. Elic was a member of the Varden, having joined when he found himself running from the Empire's men after stealing back the meat they had taken from his family. His mother, father and younger sister had escaped with him and joined the Varden in Surda. Elic had been involved in the battles at the Burning Plains and Feinister too, but wouldn't call himself an expert on war. He wouldn't call himself an expert on fighting, either. He put it down to good luck that he had survived this far with only a few scrapes and scars to show for it.

He remembered being hit rather hard on the head by a man wielding a spear as his group had run up a side street in the city centre. He had thought it was the end for him, but he had woken up a few hours later to find the battle over and no one around. He had gotten up and wandered around, but now considered that he should just have lain where he had woken, judging by his obvious hallucinations.

Because that simply couldn't be the enemy dragon lying prone and helpless in the middle of the square.

Elic stared. He stood staring for quite some time. Then, cautiously, he edged forward little by little until he was at the dragon's side. It didn't stir, so he poked it. Nothing. He poked it again, this time with the end of his sword. There was still no reaction. _Is it dead? _He wondered.

Suddenly, with a moan, the dragon twitched. Elic jumped away like a startled hare. The dragon opened one massive round eye and looked at him.

_Please, _said a faint voice in his head, _please help me. _

Elic gaped. The dragon was talking? In his head?

_Please, _the dragon said again, _please get me some help._

"W-who can I get?" Elic asked, his voice trembling.

_Someone-_ The dragon stopped and whined, one of its injuries obviously troubling it. It was silent and still for a few moments, then, just as Elic thought it dead, it continued; _Get me someone who can use magic. In fact, get me _many _people who can use magic. _

_Du Vrangr Gata, _Elic thought. "Wait right here," he said, backing away hurriedly. "Don't go anywhere, I'll get someone."

_Do I look like I'm going somewhere? _The dragon said with a hint of amusement.

"Sorry," Elic said, flushing. "I just...I just mean don't move, alright? Don't go dying on me. I'll never get it off my conscience."

The dragon curled its lip in what Elic took to be a smile. _Hurry, human, _it said, _I have not much time._

Elic nodded, and set off towards the city gates. He had no idea where the spellcasters would actually be, but he was certain that if he could speak to someone in charge, he would find help for the dragon.

Nasuada was crying. Large, fat tears rolled almost constantly down her face.

She was kneeling by Eragon's side, sobbing uncontrollably. It was not exactly a brilliant image to give to her people, but she could not help it. They seemed to understand her pain, crowding round and sobbing themselves. Saphira did not do or say anything. She lay with her head on her feet and stared at the dead body of her rider.

There was a skirmish in the crowd, and Orik pushed his way out to Eragon's side. He fell to his knees. "Eta," he whispered. "Eta, eta, eta!" he shouted the last word at the sky, ripping at his beard and shaking. Nasuada sniffed. _Poor Orik, _she thought, _he thought of Eragon as a brother._

Another figure pushed its way into the circle around Eragon. "Oh no," Angela breathed, "oh, unhappy skies curse us."

Footsteps that were as light as a feather came running to Nasuada's side, followed by a thump as their owner dropped to their knees. Nasuada looked up slowly to see Arya, her face a mixture of horror and despair.

The field was cloaked in sudden silence. No word was spoken for many minutes, as people stared or cried silently over the sight before them.

Darkness swirled around the edges of Thorn's consciousness. His body ached, but it was a far away ache, more like a memory of pain than an actual sensation. He wandered in the darkness for some time, before the darkness faded, and he became aware of voices.

All in a rush, the pain came flooding back. Thorn groaned. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and he wanted to howl and roll and thrash, but his body would not obey him and his voice could only make feeble groaning and moaning noises. All around him people were talking, arguing in loud voices. Their argument pounded Thorn's head like a storm driven wave.

He wanted to fade, go back into the blackness. But life would not relinquish its hold. Slowly, slowly, he became aware of things other than the pain. The voices began to make sense and he could focus on what they were arguing about.

"It's the enemy's dragon!" a voice shouted. "We can't heal it!"

"Every dragon must be allowed to survive!" answered another voice.

"This one is twisted and evil! Why should we welcome it blindly into the Varden?" a different angry voice exclaimed.

Thorn blinked his eyes open. He was in the same square from before, but this time it was filled with people. Around him elves and spellweavers clustered. It was they who were making him slowly better. The arguing voices belonged to a group of finely dressed nobles and battle attired soldiers. They were all shouting at the tops of their voices and making a great fuss, waving their arms around and shaking fingers in various gestures. Thorn closed his eyes again. They could debate his fate all they wanted. He had no desire to live, not anymore. He didn't need to reach out for Murtagh. He was gone, passed into a place where Thorn could not follow, and the aching pain inside the young dragon's chest could not be dulled.

"Dragon. Ho, dragon," a voice said, close to his ear. He opened one eye to see a young woman leaning over him. Her curly hair bounced around her eyes and her flanged armour clinked together as she moved. Drawing up a memory Murtagh had shown him of his life prior to becoming a Rider, he realised that this was the herbalist Angela. She poked him with a finger.

_Ow, _he pronounced, slowly.

"Good, had to get some reaction out of you." Angela straightened up and pulled her armour back into place. "Sit tight and stay very still, young dragon. I'll be back for you once I have this cursed armour off." She turned and walked away, stopping a young man on her way and saying quietly to him, "Make sure this dragon doesn't move himself, and isn't moved by anyone else. Guard him for me." The young soldier nodded, and Angela carried on. The man turned and Thorn recognised the man he had sent to get help.

"We meet again, dragon," the young man said, smiling and sitting down beside Thorn's eye. "I'm Elic, by the way. Do you have a name?"

_Of course, _Thorn drawled, his speech made slow by his hazy thoughts. _Do not all creatures? But come, no time for insult; I am named Thorn._

"Nice to meet you properly, Thorn." Elic looked around. The massed ranks of the Varden that had filled the square a few minutes before had been herded elsewhere, and it seemed that, for the moment, the lords and captains had taken their discussion elsewhere.

_Who are you, within the Varden, Elic? _Thorn asked. He had barely any energy, but to remain silent for too long increased the unnatural silence within his own head. Elic looked around, surprised that he was being talked to.

"Oh, I'm just a foot soldier. Nothing much in the way of training or greatness, you know." He shrugged.

_But do you have family? _

"Yes. My parents, and my sister, Eliana."

_Why did you join the Varden?_

I was being hunted by the Empire's soldiers. All I did was borrow a little meat. Well, I stole it really, but my family were desperate. We had barely anything to live on because of all the money collected as taxes by the King, and my father's bad leg meant that he could do nothing on the farm. I had to do all the work myself, apart from the little bits of help I got from Eliana or mother. We would have starved if I hadn't done something."

_But instead of having some food, you found yourself running from the Empire?_

"All of us were. When I found out the soldiers were on to me, I ran home for some provisions before trying to make my escape. Eliana found me as I was taking things from the cupboard, and wouldn't let me go alone. Our argument woke Mother and Father, who insisted that they come too. So we packed what we could carry and got onto the horses. I shared with my sister, the second horse carried my parents, with the third carrying our belongings. We didn't live far from Surda, so it was a relatively easy journey. But I tell you, I couldn't sleep soundly until we were safely within the walls of Aberon."

Thorn chuckled. _So you have seen things, Elic of the Varden._

"Not much!" Elic shook his head. "My story's nothing compared to the tales some of the men tell. Why, those men from Carvahall, for instance. Their whole village followed Roran Stronghammer to the Varden. And, there was this man from Daret, sold everything he owned so he could get away from the Empire. He hid in under a sheet of cloth inside a trader's wagon for a whole week to make his escape!"

Thorn laughed at this improbability, and they went on discussing various things until Angela reappeared.

"Having fun, are we?" she asked cheerily as she approached. Elic jumped up from the ground and saluted to her. She waved a hand at him. "Stop that, silly. I'm no one important. Now, let's have a look at those wounds…"

She tended to Thorn for a long while, muttering under her breath all the while. Thorn groaned occasionally from pain. Elic hung around, looking worried, and a large black cat lounged on the ground beside the dragon's head. When Angela had finished, she stood back to admire her handiwork. "A little rough around the edges, but you'll soon heal, dragon Thorn."

_I don't know if I want to, _Thorn confided quietly.

Angela moved close to Thorn's head. "It doesn't feel like it will get better, Thorn, but I promise you, it will. People don't ever get over death, but they make room for it in their lives. You will do the same. You are strong. Even with Murtagh gone, you are great. You can be whole. Do you think he would have wanted you to die, too?"

Thorn keened quietly, and Angela stroked his head soothingly. "I didn't say it would be easy. But I believe in you, Thorn. You can do this, and if you ever need me, I'll be here to help you."

Thorn looked at her through one eye. _Why do you want to help me?_

"Call it a feature of my personality," she murmured. "I always seek to help those in need." She turned to Elic. "Thank you for guarding him, soldier. I trust no one came seeking to move him?"

"No one, miss witch."

"Good. He can't be moved yet. I'll get someone to set up a tent around you, Thorn, or at least some kind of cover. You should be protected from the wind and the elements."

She strode off to do this, and Elic inclined his head. "It has been a pleasure talking to you, Thorn, but now I fear I am needed elsewhere."

_Go Elic, attend to your duties. Thank you for your time. _The young soldier bowed, then raced off into the city. Thorn watched him go with sadness. The silence in his head grew and grew, only increasing the knowledge of his loss. He howled deep within himself, turning various circles within the confines of his mind, driving to find an escape. There was none. He keened and howled and circled, the pain and the silence and the loneliness rising like a tidal wave and threatening to choke his very being.

Then Angela's words sprang into his mind. _Do you think he would have wanted you to die, too?_

_No, _Thorn thought. Murtagh would have wanted him to live. And so he would. For his Rider's sake, he would continue on with life, and live it to the full. Nothing could hold him from what he wanted. Even though Murtagh was gone, he still felt his power and strength inside him, alongside his own. Murtagh had passed on, but Thorn would make sure he had done all the things he could to realise the dream Murtagh had held, deep in his heart. He could not make it happen from where he was, so it fell to Thorn to achieve that dream for him.

To overthrow Galbatorix, and make Alagaesia peaceful once more. Now Thorn had decided, the thought gave him back the strength he thought he had lost. Though the loss of his Rider still pulsed inside him like an open wound, Thorn now felt that, given time, the wound could be healed. Maybe not completely, but as Angela had said, no one ever gets over death. They just make room for it.

**A/N/: I have decided I like Elic. I don't know if I will use him in this story again, but it gives me ideas about using OC's in general, which is something I've need been confident doing before. Hopefully you all enjoyed, please review! All comments welcome (especially with regards to your thoughts on my OC's and OC's in general. I wanna know how people feel about OC's and Elic before deciding whether I should try to work him into my story with a bigger role). **


	4. Learning To Live Again

**A/N/: Wow, I really jumped into action with this one. I found my plan again, which has made it much easier to write. Also the great reviews spurred me along. I quite like most of this chapter, except perhaps the end.**

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Eragon's body had not been touched. Saphira had guarded it for an entire day and night, mourning her loss. Now, however, Arya approached the fearsome dragon with the intent of changing this.

"Saphira."

The dragoness did not look up.

"Saphira," Arya said, a little louder and more forcefully this time.

The blue dragoness looked up and eyed her mournfully. _What?_

"Saphira, the Varden plans to move on. We must move quickly to take advantage of Galbatorix's weakness, and Eragon-" Arya choked, unable to continue. She exhaled quietly, gathered her composure, and continued, "Eragon must be given a proper burial."

Saphira curled back her lip and snarled. Arya betrayed no reaction, and the dragoness moved a little, snaking her head towards the elf. _You would intend to move my Eragon? _She thundered.

"The method of his burial would be yours to choose," Arya whispered.

Saphira stilled. She was silent for a long while. Eventually she said, _Burn him. Make a pyre a mile high, and burn him so his soul can be released._

Arya nodded. She motioned with a hand, and the twelve elven spellcasters ran forward. Stooping, they lifted Eragon's body between them and carried it away. Saphira keened quietly as she watched them go. "Come, Saphira," Arya said, "let us go. We should help the Varden move on."

_Is that all? _Saphira wailed. _Does life just go straight on? My Eragon is dead, and I will have naught to do with this petty war any longer!_

Arya gasped. "No Saphira!" she cried. "We need you! Do not abandon us now, or we shall surely perish!"

_I did not say I would abandon my cause! _Saphira roared. _Only now I will go about it in a more direct way. No longer will I hide where the cursed traitor king cannot hurt me! I will fly to him now, and destroy him, no matter the cost to myself! _She raised her wings in readiness to take flight. _Inform Nasuada of where I have gone, Arya, and avenge me should I fail!_

"Saphira, wait!" Arya shouted. "We need you to stay here! With you on our side, the Varden can win! If you blunder blindly into Galbatorix's castle now, you will be slain or imprisoned!" Her words seemed to have no effect on Saphira, who lowered herself in preparation to jump into the sky. "Think how he would feel!" Arya screamed desperately. Saphira thrashed her head and howled. "Think! Would he want you to throw your life away meaninglessly? He wouldn't want you to do this!"

_Curse you Arya! _Saphira screeched. _Curse you by the skies above! _She fell to the ground, keening again, and Arya ran to her side.

"Forgive me, O mighty one," Arya said in a low, hoarse voice. "Forgive me for my trepass on your heart."

Saphira lifted her nose and bumped Arya with it softly. _I will forgive you, little one. You make me see what is needed, and not that which only I want. _

"We will all miss him," Arya whispered, no louder than a breath. "I-I-" Unable to continue, she felt her eyes well with the tears she had been holding back for the past three days. Saphira encircled her with her wings as she broke down into sobs, shielding her from prying eyes.

0

Nasuada's captains were grim faced. All of them knew that they didn't have much chance of victory, not now. They had gathered, instead, to decide what to do about the enemy dragon. Thorn had given them a promise of undying support, in the ancient language. Because of their desperate situation, they had decided to take him at his word. They now had to integrate him into their battle plans. This task, which should have taken no longer than an hour, was being made unnecessarily complicated by the many people who wished to voice their disapproval of the dragon.

One particular noble was making his objection quite clear now. Nasuada dearly wished to wring his neck, but she maintained a façade of composure. Next to her, Orik was having trouble doing the same. Although Thorn's Rider had killed Hrothgar, Orik had strangely found no fault with the dragon of said Rider and had welcomed him as a chance to make up their loss. He also found the rants of various nobles and notables mindlessly boring, and was keen to make sure everyone knew it.

On her other side, Orrin looked like he'd almost fallen asleep. Nasuada couldn't help but smile at his vacant expression, which she hid a split second later. _At least I still have the ability to smile, _she thought grimly. She suspected that her ability to smile at Orrin did not come from his incompetence at this moment. She had found herself harbouring a soft spot for the king, a distraction which she did not need at this moment in time. She refused to let herself dwell on it, fearing that inspecting her feelings too closely may lead to her discovering something she did not want to feel.

"Enough!" The dwarf king had risen to his feet. "We need the dragon whether we like it or not. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool!" There were murmurs of both agreement and argument around the tent.

Orrin sat up, jolted from his half slumber. "Yes, Lord Rangan, there really is no question. Sit down before you find yourself expelled from my presence." The Surdan King delivered his threat with no small amount of impatience, and Nasuada thought she would find herself silently thanking him for it. The feeling she experienced was different, however, and she found she could not put a name to the odd sensation. The disgraced lord sat down with a quiet huff, and everyone turned to her.

"We will begin with battle strategy," she informed them, pushing aside her errant feelings.

0

Saphira hovered on stiff open wings above the Varden. She strictly avoided Thorn, who seemed happy to copy her example. He had healed well and was soaring confidently through the sky. She refused to watch him. _Stupid runt, _was the only thought she spared him.

Thorn, however, found himself thinking about her. He admired her strength and beauty, soaring above the clouds. She definitely cut a striking figure. He didn't think he was attracted to her; rather, he was curious to meet another dragon who had no been tainted by evil magics like Shruikan. But she refused to talk to him. At first he was offended, but then he learned from Angela that she refused to talk to all but Arya. He felt sorry for her. If only she would open up to him, they could help each other recover from their loss. But she was cold and distant like a mountain lake.

Thorn had been busy healing since the battle at Belatona. It had taken the Varden three days to mobilise and regroup into a travelling party, and in that time Angela and several other spellcasters had tended to him obsessively, and he had healed. Although he was not fully up to strength, he could keep up with the Varden as they beetled along below him.

Soaring through the sky again was a feeling he had never thought to experience, and he felt joy erupt inside him. It was quashed suddenly by one thought. _If only Murtagh was here, _he thought sadly. He hadn't made much progress in making space for his Rider's death. The black hole of silence and absence that his presence had left was impossible to fill, and he still woke up whimpering and keening in the night after dreaming of the long fall that had killed the partner of his heart and mind.

Thorn faced into the wind and focused on nothing but the air currents and the rise and fall of his wings. _I can do this, _he repeated to himself. _Murtagh would want me to live._

0

A messenger rode up to the gate of the great city Aberon. Sighted by the guards, he was let in and escorted to where his messages must be delivered. His tidings were of both joy and great sadness, as he brought news from the army. Many received letters from loved ones away fighting, while many also received an official letter from the Varden informing them that their loved one was dead.

Much grieving ensued from the news that Eragon Shadeslayer had been killed. But in a small house in on the outskirts of the city, one woman cried her heart out over the letter in her hands, clutching her small baby and sobbing hysterically.

"Roran, Roran," Katrina howled, her daughter howling in unison with her. The small child could not possibly understand the meaning of her mother's sobs, but she howled all the same.

Katrina's heart felt like it had been punched from her chest. How could this have happened to Roran? He was supposed to be the greatest warrior, undefeatable. Yet the cold piece of parchment in her hand told her otherwise. Her brave soldier was dead, and she was alone in the world. Worse still, her cousin Eragon, the only other family she had, had also perished. She was alone, completely and utterly.

Through her tears she noticed something. There was elegant, curling handwriting on the back of the parchment. Flipping it, she read.

_Dear Katrina,_

_Your loss is great, and I know that you are now alone. Since Roran was of such great help to us, and Eragon, your cousin by law, was a dear friend of mine, I would like you to come back to the Varden. I know that an army on the march is no meet place to bring up a child, but I fear we shall not be marching much longer. The end looms, and I believe it is only fitting for you to be here when the storm breaks. _

_I will support you in all ways, and would be grateful of your company, if you are willing to give it._

_Travel safely,_

_Nasuada._

Katrina stared at the message, then she re-read it. It still said the same thing. Tears of relief came to her eyes. She was saved. Nasuada had thrown her a life line, and she was all too willing to take it.

She comforted her child, then placed her gently in her cot. Rushing, she began to gather her things. There wasn't much she needed, and the Varden here in Aberon would take care of her other belongings. Wrapping herself and her daughter in travelling cloaks, she opened the front door of her small house and locked it behind her. A neighbour hailed her from across the street. "Where are you going, Katrina?" the jolly old woman asked.

"I go to meet the Varden," Katrina replied. Ignoring the woman's shocked face, she asked, "Will you watch my house for me while I am gone?" The woman nodded dumbly, and Katrina thanked her before setting off down the street.

At the market before the main gates to the city Katrina used some of the money she had been provided with to buy herself a horse and some provisions. She knew the journey would be dangerous so she also purchased a small dagger. Hiding it at her waist, she set off through the gates of Aberon out into the wilderness. For two hours she rode, stopping when the sun slid below the horizon. A meagre dinner was provided from her pack. Her daughter wailed and was only shushed by a quiet song that Katrina had learnt while still a young girl in Carvahall.

As her daughter slept, the young woman looked up towards the blanket of stars that now filled the sky. She wondered if Roran was up there somewhere. He would be watching over her. _Now, however, it is up to me to survive. _The thought was sobering, but Katrina knew she could get through. She was made of sterner stuff than most women, and she would not curl up and die because her husband was gone. Although thinking of him made her feel hollow inside, she frowned up at the stars.

_I will be strong, _she vowed. _I will not fail, and I will not falter. I will stand proud in the face of all adversity, for you, my daughter, and for you, my loved one who has passed beyond my reach. This I swear._

And wrapped up under the cold watching stars, Katrina fell asleep with the words of her vow warming her heart.

0

**A/N/: You will notice I now use an '0' to separate points of view. I noticed they weren't separated before and wanted to fix it. If I have time I will go back and fix the other chapters too. **

**The ending seemed a little rushed to me, but I hope you enjoy it. I didn't think Katrina would mope around for too long, not if she had to survive all by herself. I hope I got her character right. I'm not great at grieving, and I hope Thorn's grieving doesn't seem superficial either. And yes, I am setting it up to be Nasuada/Orrin. I don't usually support this pairing, but it works in this instance (and I can make it cute. Fluff!). **

**Hope you enjoyed. All reviews welcome. **


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